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INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS 
HON. WILLIAM P. WHEELER, 

OF KEENE, N. H. 

PRESIDENT OF THE DAY. 

\ 

AND 

ORATION 

OF 

BARON STOW, D. D. 

OF BOSTON, 

DELI V E R EDA T THE 

CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, 
AT CROYDON, N. H. 

JXJIVE 13, 1866. 



-KJJ©<C 



ClaremoiTt, W. J^.: 

PRINTED BY THE CLAEEMONT MANUFACTUKING COMPANY, 

1867. 



INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS 

OF 

HON. WILLIAM P. WHEELER, 

OF KEENE, N. H. 

PRESIDENT OF THE DAY, 

AND 

ORATION 

OF 

BARON STOW, D. D. 

OF BOSTON, 

DELIVERED AT THE 

CENTENNIAL CELEBEATION, 

AT CROYDON, N. H. 

JXIJVE 13, 1866. 



o»?c 



ffilaremont, :sr. ?^.: 

PRINTED BY THE CLAREMONT MANUFACTUEIITG COMPANY. 

1867. 






/ 



>K 



HOX. WILLIAM P. WHEELER OF KEEXE, 



Ladies and Gentlemen : 

It was a happy thought on the part of that portion of 
the household abiding here at home, to take note of the 
close of the first hundred years in our family history ; and 
to mark the transit from the old to the new century by a 
holiday at the old homestead. And it was especially kind 
and thoughtful of them to recall, on the occasion, those 
members of the Croydon family who from necessity or choice 
have been drawn to other fields of labor. That they have 
come with alacrity and in full force, is sufficiently evinced 
by what we here see. Some have come with increased 
households ; while others whom we would gladly have wel- 
comed, have recently passed beyond the reach of an earth- 
ly summons. Yet while we grieve for those who for the 
present seem to be lost to us, we may mingle our congratu- 
lations ; and unite in commemorating what the first centu- 
ry has wrought for us. 

We are here to-day upon a stand-point where three gen- 
erations are to pass in review before us. Their work is 



iinished, but the lesson therein taught, remains to us and 
to our children. And this day will not be lost if our minds 
are refreshed, and stimulated to higher action in the future 
by what is most noble and heroic in the past. The dead 
century is before us. Its history can not be changed Let 
us listen reverently to its teachings. The living century is 
already beginning to unfold. Who will say that a recital 
of what was,suffered and achieved by the early fathers and 
mothers, may not animate us with a spirit which shall leave 
Its impress on another generation ? Let us to-day rekindle 
the fires of patriotism on the altar of our forefathers. 

The wanderers have gathered at their native home to- 
day, because it was not in their hearts to resist the kindly 
summons. They are here to renew ancient friendships, to 
listen again to voices once fomiliar to them, and to look 
once more upon the face of nature as she greeted them in 
childhood. Here truly are the streams and lakes, the hills 
and valleys of our early days, unchanged by the lapse of 
time And the grand old mountain, with its dark forests 
still looks down upon us as of yore. Our country boasts of 
mountain peaks which attract pilgrims from distant lands 
but I have seen none which can for a moment compare 
with the familiar one under whose shadow we now stand 
There may be little to attract to it the eye of the stranger • 
but every true son of Croydon can testify that - the sacred 
mountains "are those upon which the eye was accustomed 
to rest in childhood. 

The strong love which involuntarily attaches one to the 
home of his youth may not be easy of analysis ; but it is a 
fact everywhere existing and recognized. It is but slightly 
dependent upon outward circumstances. The humble cot- 



tage in the forest, or upon the bleak mountain side, has 
attractions not surpassed by the lordly mansions of wealth 
and luxury. The place of one's birth is not less dear be- 
cause it is humble : and the memory of it is not effaced by 
time or worldly cares. You may immerse one in business 
or pleasure until his time and all his waking thoughts are 
wholly absorbed in the present. Nature is still true to her- 
self There will be moments in that life, if at no other 
time, in his slumbers, in the quiet hours of night, when 
the visions of childhood and of the early home will return. 
Again the brothers and sisters are with him. Again he 
mingles with his youthful playmates. He once more hears 
the voice of his sainted mother ; and he is again the gentle 
and confiding child, unspoiled by the follies and vices of 
after-life. 

The query has sometimes arisen, what is it that entitles 
Croydon to the distinction which she has always claimed 
among her neighbors ? What has given her the position 
which is generally conceded to her ? Her territory is small, 
and her soil in the main unproductive. Her inhabitants are 
few in number ; and her mercantile and manufacturing 
interests are of small account. Her religious privileges have 
not been large, neither her schools numerous nor always of 
the highest order. Yet wherever you meet a Croydon boy, 
young or old, you meet one who is proud of his native 
town. I have met them in the crowded city, and far up 
among the sources of the great rivers of this continent ; 
yet in their new homes I found them the same indomitable, 
hard-working and well-balanced men as those who now 
cultivate these hills and valleys. What then is their true 
claim to distinction ? It is not that they are men of great 



genius or extraordinary acquirements. A few have over- 
come the difficulties in their way, and have obtained a 
liberal education ; while others with less school culture, 
have found positions of honor and usefulness abroad. But 
it is not to these alone, or mainly, that the town owes her 
position. 

All the sources of her strength may not readily be com- 
prehended or stated. But some of them are sufficiently 
obvious. In the first place all accounts agree that the first 
settlers here were men and women of great nerve and 
endurance ; and many of them of unusual size and physical 
strength. They found here a soil and climate which called 
forth their best energies. They breathed a pure and invig- 
orating air. The breezes — not always warm or mild — 
which swept the White or Green Mountains and came 
pouring over the rugged sides of our great mountain barrier, 
brought with them health and mental soundness. 

Thus from a noble ancestry, early accustomed to struggle 
with Nature in her sterner moods, and to take an active 
part in public affairs in the stirring times in which they 
lived, a race of men has been trained and developed who 
still uphold the honor and dignity of their native town. As 
we have seen them in the present generation, they have 
appeared to be men, not perhaps in all cases over-devotional 
or religious, but self-reliant and ready for work ; men of 
integrity who could compete successfully with their neigh- 
bors or rivals in whatever business or profession they were 
engaged. Many of them still retain the stalwart forms of 
their ancestors. The original types of the Bartons, Coopers, 
Halls, Humphreys, Powers, Putnams, Whipples, and their 
compeers of a century ago, have not wholly disappeared. 



And it is to be hoped that those who assemble here at the 
close of another century may find among them the physical 
and mental peculiarities of those who began their work here 
in 1766. 

As a township Croydon has, from the beginning, been out- 
stripped by her more prosperous neighbors. To say nothing 
of other flourishing towns about us, Claremont and New- 
port, with their water-power and broad acres of interval, 
have grown in wealth and population until they may look 
upon this little community as a humble tributary to the 
stream of their prosperity. But Croydon points to her 
sons and daughters — not supposed to be numerous until 
to-day — as the tower of her strength ; and claims equality 
of rank. 

We hope on this occasion to hear something of the history 
of the founders of this town ; and of the later generations who 
have borne an honorable part in all our great struggles. In 
the war of the revolution Croydon sent her full share of men 
of strong arms and resolute wills, to battle for independence. 
The sacrifices which were made to achieve what we have 
so recently been called upon to defend — our national unity 
and independence — never seemed greater to me than when, 
as a boy, I listened to the recitals of my venerable grand- 
father, Nathaniel Wheeler, senior, of the toils and privations 
endured by him and his companions in arms, and their 
families, during the dark days of the revolution. Truly, 
there was no lack of patriotism on the part of the man who 
could, at the call of his country, march to the field of battle, 
while he left behind him in the wilderness his wife and 
infant children, dependent upon the good will of the neigh- 
bors to scare the wild beasts from the cabin door, and to 



8 

cultivate the patch of cleared ground which was to furnish 
the scanty supply of bread for hungry mouths. Yet we have 
the concurrent testimony of many, that such instances were 
not rare in the early history of this town. 

In the second war with Grreat Britain Croydon sustained 
her part nobly ; and I count it a thing to be proud of, that 
when a call was made upon the town for soldiers, the pro- 
ceedings commenced for a draft were at once set aside by 
the voluntary enlistment of its citizens ; and that the first 
man to offer himself as a private soldier for the service, was 
Nathaniel Wheeler, jr., then holding a high commission in 
the State militia. And in the terrible ordeal through which 
our beloved country has just passed, and from which she is 
rising, purified, we trust, as by fire, it was not inappropriate 
that a later descendant of the same family should surrender 
up his life, far from kindred and home, at the call of his 
country. But the history of one family is the history of 
many ; and I would not give an undue prominence to the 
services of one, while so many family records have been 
illuminated by the noble deeds of more than one generation. 
Let us, at the risk of being egotistic, tell what we know of our 
fathers that is worthy of record ; what we are doing or 
striving for ourselves, and what we hope of our children. 
Then will this be a day long to be remembered by the sons 
and daughters of Croydon. 



oi^/^Tioisr 



BY BARON STOW, D. D., OF BOSTOK* 



Hugh Miller of Scotland, says, " The mind of every man 
has its picture-gallery — scenes of beauty, or magnificence, 
or quiet comfort stamped upon his memory." And he 
might have added, that often a very small thing, or a very 
trivial incident, will serve as a key to open that gallery, and 
let in the light of day upon long darkened reminiscences. 

Seven years ago about this time, I was in the heart of 
Europe, in Munich, the capital of the kingdom of Bavaria. 
One bright, cloudless afternoon, wearied with sight-seeing, 
I walked into the country, partly for physical refreshment, 
and partly that I might turn away from the works of 
human ^rt, splendid and beautiful as they were, and con- 
template the richer beauties and glories of Nature. The 
air was balmy and charged with perfume from fields and 
gardens in full bloom. When far enough away, I ascended 
a knoll and turned to view the landscape. It was one of 
the loveliest. Away at my right, on the slope of a ridge, 



* Owing to the rain that greatly incommoded the larger part of the audience, considerable 
portions of the Address, as now published, were necessarily omitted in the delivery. 



10 

was the famous national monument, the colossal statue of 
Bavaria, towering with its pedestal one hundred feet from 
the ground. Towards my left was the city, the gem of 
continental Europe. In front along the south loomed up 
the serrated range of the Tyrolese Alps, snow-clad, and 
glittering in the sunlight like burnished silver. The whole 
scene was one of blended beauty and grandeur. There was 
much to remind me of God, and awaken feelings of adora- 
tion. 

But soon a very small object changed, suddenly and com- 
pletely, the current of thought, and set it running in a new 
direction. Seated on the turf, I noticed at my feet a flower 
which I had familiarly known, in my early childhood, as 
" yellow weed" or "butter cup." I remembered when the 
fields of my native town, in the month of June, were golden 
with its bloom, and how the farmers classed it with the 
"hard-hack" and the "Canada thistle," as a nuisance not 
easily abated. I had learned to regard it as a pest, but 
there, in the outskirts of Munich, I did not dislike it ; I 
hailed it as an old acquaintance ; my heart sprang towai-ds 
it ; I read " Croydon" on its every petal ; it was suggestive 
of a hundred fold more than I can now tell. In S2:)ace, I 
was instantly transported nearly five thousand miles west- 
ward to my New Hampshire home, five degrees more south- 
ward than Munich, yet colder in climate and more rugged 
in scenery. In time, I was taken back nearly sixty years, 
and looking at things as they were when Thomas Jefferson 
was President of the United States, and our Government 
was quarreling, diplomatically, with England about Orders 
in Council, embargoes, and non-intercourse laws ; and when 
Napoleon I. at the zenith of his power, had the sympathy 



11 

of all in our country who wished to see the British Lion 
humbled ; and when party spirit in New Hampshire, Croy- 
don not excepted, was at fever heat. How vivid, how 
minute, were my recollections all revived by the suggestive- 
ness of that little, unpretentious flower ! I stood, once 
more a boy of seven years, in that semicircle of high hills, 
sweeping round from north-east to south-west, with slopes 
partly wooded and partly dotted with small rocky farms, 
and within which lay, not indeed a prairie, but an undulat- 
ing plain, having in its center a dark forest, the haunt of 
night-prowhng animals, the terror of the cornfield, the hen- 
roost and the sheepfold. Around that forest were cultivated 
farms, not very productive, but yielding to industry and 
economy support for a hardy yeomanry, not then disturbed 
by visions of better acres in the opening West. Had I 
actually been at the old homestead of Peter Stow, near the 
western border of that black forest, hardly could I have seen 
more distinctly the outline and the filling up of that semi- 
circle, with its encompassing hills, than I then beheld them 
in the "picture-gallery" of the mind. What then to me 
were the magnificent Alps with their lofty peaks and deep 
gorges, and their thundering avalanches ? 1 had before me 
" Croydon Mountain," identified in the memories of child- 
hood with my first ideas of elevation and greatness, and of 
isolation from all that was beyond, a barrier separating 
me, not from classic Italy, but from far off Cornish and 
Grantham. 

It was midsummer in the memory, and the warm blue 
sky was flecked with detached clouds that dappled with 
shade the sunny landscape. The shadows of those clouds, 
moved by the lightest, softest winds, as they passed down 



12 

the mountain side and crossed the plain ; and the grass and 
grain waving in gentle undulations ; and the smoke curling 
aslant from the chimneys of farm-houses — all these had 
given me, notwithstanding Dr. Darwin's theory, my original 
impressions of natural beauty. Herds and flocks were graz- 
ing quietly in rocky pastures. The atmosphere was loaded 
with fragrance from clover blossoms, white and red, sweeter 
than any perfume from Araby the Blest. No sounds fell 
upon the ear but the music of birds, or the hum of insects, 
or, at the hour of twelve, the housewife's horn calling the 
hungry " men folks" from the field of toil to her prepared 
table ; or, at night-fall, the hoarse cry of the night hawk and 
the inimitable hoot of the " boding owl," both relieved by 
the plaintive notes of the hidden whip-poor-will. And that 
house of my nativity, as innocent of paint as a Croydon 
maiden's face, very small, quite rustic, with few con- 
veniences, yet the palace of an independent lord and his 
wife and four children — how particular were my recollections 
of its exact structure, gable-end to the street ; of its every 
apartment, every article of furniture, every fireplace, door, 
window, stairway ; of the floor and ceiling ; of the cupboard 
and dresser :; of 

" The family Bible that lay on the stand ;" 

yes, and especially of all the inmates, the permanent and 
the occasional ! 

"Fond Memory, to her diity true, 
Brings back their faded forms to view; 
How lifelike, through the mist of years, 
Each well-remembered face appears!" 

There was on the one side the wood shed, in one part of 
which was the platform for spinning, quilling, warping, 
weaving, with all the implements of domestic manufactur- 



13 

ing. On the other, through " the stoop," was the well, 
with " crotch," and " sweep," and " pole," and "curb," and 
"old oaken bucket," and crystal water of arctic coolness. 
There was the garden, inclosed by a stone wall, with its 
fringe of currant bushes, and a thrifty nursery, and patches 
of vegetables, and in the center the large granite boulder 
smothered with roses. In the roadway was a still larger 
boulder, the " pulpit rock" of the future preacher. A little 
further down was a brook where cousins of two families met 
and childishly sported. In front of the house was a row of 
Lombardy poplars, tall and luxuriant, never cropped for fagots 
as I have seen them on their native plains in Northern Italy. 
In the rear was the apple orchard, laden with unripened, 
and therefore, forbidden, fruit. At a suitable distance were 
the barns for the storage of farm products, and for the 
housing of " stock." At the foot of a small declivity near 
by was a swamp in which frogs, at certain seasons, gave 
free concerts — batrachian types of certain classes of my own 
species whom I have everywhere met — peepers and croakers. 
The dwellings to be seen from that memorable stand-point 
were few, some of them hung on the sides of the ragged 
hills, far apart, and, but for domestic affections, isolated 
and lonely. I remembered not only the homes, but the 
faces and the employments and the habits and the tempera- 
ments and the reputed characters of all the neighbors 
within the circle of a mile radius. I remembered the low, 
flat-roofed school-house of the district, hidden in a small 
forest nook, fringed with birches and briars ; and the names 
and faces of my teachers — God bless their precious mem- 
ories — and the name and face of every fellow-pupil. I 
remembered nearly all the roads and farms in the town^ and 



14 

most of the residences of the nine hundred inhabitants, and 
such family names as Metcalf, Wakefield, Stow, Ward, 
Fletcher, Town, Smart, Carpenter, Rawson, Straight, 
Powers, Goldthwait, Marsh, Frye, Darling, Thresher, 
Walker, Ames, Winter, Barton, Carroll, Putnam, Stock- 
well, Emery, Reed, Cutting, Loverin, Eggleston, Blan- 
chard, Jacobs, Hagar, Wheeler, Crosby, Eastman, Dwinnell, 
Breck, Hall, Kempton, Whipple, Ferrin, Nelson, Partridge, 
Cooper, Paul, Newell, Rider, Melendy, Haven, Durkee, 
Humphrey, Clement, Sanger ; and of some of these names 
several families. I remembered how common it was to 
reduce discriminating names to convenient, familiar mono- 
syllables, as Sam, Ben, Jock, Tim, Joe, Bije, Ned, Jake, 
Jim, Pete, Sol, Nat, Tom, Nate, Steve, Dave, Josh, Zeke, 
Lem, Rias, Bill, Reub, Mose, Frank ; but I did not recall one 
Sammie, or Bennie, or Eddie, or Willie, or Johnnie, or 
Charlie, or Freddie, or Joey, or Jamie, or Frankie or 
Greorgie, or Hezzie. Among the girls, not then styled 
young ladies, were Patty, Judy, Tempe, Speedy, Peggy, 
Nabby, Lize, Sukey, Viney, Milly, Betsey, Fanny, Prudy, 
Roxy, Sally, Polly, Cindy, Listy, Jinny ; but not, as I 
recollect, one Hattie, or Susie, or Nannie, or Josie, or 
Bessie, or Lillie, or Addie, or Tillie, or Celestie, or Lulu, or 
Katie, or Minnie, or Rosie, or Libbie, or Maggie or Carrie. 
Couples were married by priest Haven, not as gentlemen 
and ladies, but as men and women. Father was not '' pa" 
or "papa," but quite generally "dad" or "daddy." Mother 
was not "ma," but " mammy." Brother was not "bubby," 
or sister "sissy." The modern refinements in nomenclature 
and terms of endearment had not then reached so far as 
Croydon. Are they now here ? If they are, do you count 



15 

them improvements ? Do they convey more heart than the 
old styles of familiar address ? 

I remembered the June training, and the one Croydon 
company of militia ; and the muster days, and the thirty- 
first regiment, and its field ofiicers, and its " troopers," and 
" Springfield grenadiers," and its regimental flag, and its 
sham fights, brave and bloodless. I remembered the town 
meetings, and the spelling schools, and the squirrel hunts, 
and the working on the highways, and the house-warmings, 
and the huskings and the quiltings — not all yet as I am 
told, quite obsolete institutions. And I remembered the 
one house of Christian worship, and also the one tavern and 
two stores, the one carding machine and here and there a 
smithery, the one tannery and a few grist and saw-mills. 
But I remembered no lawyer or sheriif — no law officers but 
two justices of the peace and the tything-men, the latter 
the special terror of Sabbath-desecrating boys. Some of 
you, like myself, may recollect those keen-eyed detectives, 
Samuel Metcalf and Sherman Cooper. 

I remembered the burial place, " God's Acre," 

•'Where the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep ;" 

imperfectly inclosed, showing little of the hand of care, 
overgrown with mullens and briers, and far more repulsive 
than attractive. There were grassy mounds and significant 
hollows, and an occasional headstone of blue slate, but not 
one of marble ; and fresh in my memory were names and 
quaint inscriptions, closing with the monitory couplet, 

" Death is a debt to Nature due, 
Which I have paid, and so must you ;" 

or with a fuller statement. 



16 



" As you are now, so once was I, 
As I am now, you soon must be ; 

Kemember, you are born to die ; 
Therefore, prepare to follow me." 



Say not that all this was a waking dream or a reverie, for 
it was neither ; it was a simple look into the " picture- 
gallery" of the soul, and the key that unlocked the partic- 
ular apartment where the Croydon of my childhood was 
permanently portrayed, was that little flower which had 
done for me what no other of all the flora of Europe could 
have done. The process was rapid. I sat not long on that 
grassy hillock, for the sun was declining, and a cold wind 
was setting in from the frozen Alps, and, plucking that 
suggestive flower, I hastened back to my lodgings. From 
that hour I hoped that you would, in 1866, do what you 
are so effectively doing to-day, and that I might be permit- 
ted to join you in commemorating the worth and the deeds 
of our ancestors who here made the first settlement, and 
commenced for the town the history you are passing in 
review. 

Be assured, Mr. President and fellow-townsmen, I speak 
with intense sincerity ; I count it a special privilege to be 
here to-day. And why should I not ? Though long absent, 
I return with memories fresh and vivid. I am living over 
the first eight years of my varied, eventful life. I have seen 
many parts of the world, the New and the Old ; but no 
spot on either continent, in city or country, is so dear to me 
as my native town. I stop not to analyze this feeling of 
preference ; probably it defies all analysis and explanation ; 
but I know it to be a fixed fact in my being, and only by 
the annihilation of that being can it be dislodged. My spirit 
is mellow and tender with reminiscences of the place and 



17 

the people as they were when this was my home. What I 
have described as lying far back im my memory, is, 1 
presume, but a representative of what is depicted with equal 
clearness in the memories of others. The Wheelers, the 
Metcalfs, the Halls, the Powers, the Whipples, the Havens, 
the Carrolls, the Putnams, and all the rest of you who have 
lived fifty years and more, have your own picture-galleries, 
open to-day and filled with images of the past. You are 
thinking of old homesteads, and parents, and neighbors, and 
the events of your early days. Some of you, natives of 
Croydon, are older than myself, and can remember farther 
back ; but none of you who have been long away, I am sure, 
have returned with a stronger love for our native hills, or a 
heart warmer with gratitude that this was our birth-place, 
or that here we were trained to commence life in earnest. 
I join you fervently in these commemorative services, 
and cordially lay on this altar of reunion my small contri- 
bution. 

Of those who, one hundred years ago, commenced here a 
settlement, all have long since passed away. Since I left 
the town, nearly two generations have come and gone. Were 
the first two children who were born near this spot — Cath- 
arine Whipple and Joshua Chase — now living, they would 
be ninety-nine years old. Very few born in the last century 
are present to-day. As I visit other places where I have 
resided, and inquire for old acquaintances, I am directed to 
the cemeteries. The same would be done, more or less, in 
Croydon ; and yet fewer in number, in proportion to the 
population, have closed their mission here, for more than 
two-thirds of those born here have emigrated, and -their 



18 

graves are to he found in many States, all the way from 
the Penobscot to the regions beyond the Father of Waters. 
I remember a few of the pioneers — more especially Moses 
Whipple, the veteran deacon, the man of large heart, and 
upright character, the genial peace-maker, respected and 
beloved by all ; and Ezekiel Powers, the man of large 
bodily proportions, whose inventive faculties and achieve- 
ments of muscular strength and sterling common sense 
made him the hero of many a tradition. The men of the 
first half century were a hardy race, enterprising, adven- 
turous, made robust by toil and exposure, with great powers 
of endurance, and renowned for uncommon triumphs over 
rugged obstacles. Nowhere else have I seen men of such 
physical frames and such executive energies as some whom 
I remember. With what rapt interest and admiration I 
listened, as a child, by the hour to stories of their hardships 
and exploits in land-clearing, river-bridging, road-making, 
house-building, sugar-manufacturing, bear-hunting, otter 
and beaver-trapping, snow-shoe- traveling ! How unpro- 
ductive was often the soil they cultivated ; how unfriendly 
were the late spring and early autumnal frosts ; how 
obstructing were the terrific snow-storms ;. how short and 
capricious were their summers, and long and rigorous their 
winters ; how difficult to protect their scanty crops and live 
stock from the depredations of wild beasts ; how coarse and 
often restricted were their means of sustenance ; how 
stringent were their privations during the Revolutionary 
War ; how great their sufferings from a depreciated cur- 
rency^ from the lack of groceries, clothing, and medical 
supplies ! What an unwritten history ! Traditions, once 
fresh and thrilling, how faded already, and soon to be 



19 

wholly forgotten ! Young as I was, I listened eagerly, and 
ray memory was charged to repletion with narratives, 
original and second-hand, from my paternal grandmother, 
from Samuel Powers, Sherman Cooper, Aaron Whipple, 
and, may I not add, from that venerable spinster, " aunt 
Lizzie Sanger." I was fond of the captivating detail of 
Jewish, Grecian, Roman and English history ; but nothing 
that I read struck roots so deeply in my inner being, and 
fixed there so permanent a lodgment, as those oral narratives 
heard by childhood's ear during the long winter evenings 
nearly sixty years ago. Often since have I coveted the 
descriptive powers of those strong-minded stalwart veterans, 
some of whom were actors in the rough scenes they graphi- 
cally portrayed. They had the elements of first-class 
orators. And among those narrated marvels were not a few 
of the heroic achievements of Croydon women, the great- 
grandmothers of many now before me ; of what they effect- 
ively did and bravely suffered, when their husbands, fathers, 
brothers, sons, were away contending for their country's 
independence. I remember some of those women, of 
uncommon brain and muscle, giantesses and the mothers of 
giants ; and few of the sex have I since seen who equaled 
them in strength of intellect and executive accomplishment. 
None of them are here ; but memory holds in the " picture- 
gallery" their forms and features and intonations of 
speech. 

Mr. President, by some unaccountable process, I have 
had the misfortune to be announced for an " oration" on 
this festive occasion. That is what your Committee never 
asked of me, and what I never promised or contemplated. 



20 

I am here no more to pronounce an oration than I am to 
preach a sermon. I consented, as one of the speakers, to 
contribute something in the way of reminiscences. Twenty 
years ago, I was more formal in a memorial service at 
Newport, when there was a reunion, not of natives merely, 
but of past and present residents. And, nineteen years 
ago, at Sherburne, Mass., I addressed, in quite another style, 
the descendants of Henry Leland, some of whose posterity, 
at an early period, settled in Croydon. But this is neither 
Newport nor Sherburne ; it is my birthplace, the home of 
ray progenitors, full to overflow of the tenderest associations, 
and the affections here burn with an intensity that forbids 
all intellectual elaboration. 

To say much of persons might be deemed invidious ; but 
of a very few I may speak particularly without incurring 
the imputation of partiality. 

Foremost among those remembered, 1 mention Jacob 
Haven, uniformly called " Priest," as were all Congrega- 
tional ministers in this region, while Baptist and Freewill 
Baptist ministers were as uniformly known by the title of 
" Elder." For more than half a century he was prominently 
identified with the history of the town. A native of Fram- 
ingham, Mass., he was here ordained in 1788, and here he 
died in 1845. He was called to the pastorate by the legal 
voters of the town, who determined his salary ; and, being 
the first minister settled, he was the recipient of the share 
of land reserved for that purpose by the grantor. Governor 
Wentworth. In 1805, he ceased to be the minister of the 
town, and became the pastor of such as adhered to him by 
similarity of religious views or affinity of i)ersonal feeling, 
and were willing to support him. 



21 

You who are not past forty do not remember the old 
meeting-house, a very plain structure, never finished, and 
too cold to be occupied in the winter. I recollect how the 
plates, beams and king-posts were exposed on the inside. 
The pews were square, with perpendicular partitions, and 
with turn-up seats which, at the close of the " long prayer," 
were let down with a famous clatter, sometimes before the 
"Amen." The seats were uncushioned, the aisles were 
uncarpeted, and many panes in the numerous windows were 
broken. The pulpit, behind which was the royal window, 
was very elevated, and contained a square block for a rest 
to the shorter limb of the Priest as he stood at his work. 
Overhanging was a clumsy " canopy" or " sounding-board," 
Half way up the pulpit, at the first landing, were the 
" Deacon's seats," graced, as I well remember, by such 
worthies as Moses Whipple, Stephen Powers, and Sherman 
Cooper. In the front gallery was the choir of singers, un- 
sustained by organ or seraphine or even a "big fiddle," but 
conducted by Samuel Metcalf, who gave the key-note with 
his pitch-pipe, and then, in unison with the rest, sounded 
out the initial " fa-sol-la-mi-fa." In some of the old fugue 
tunes, 0, how they raced in mazy confusion, all coming out 
nearly together ! At one end of the house was a tower 
surmounted by a belfry, from which never a bell sent its 
peals among these hills. Around the house was a profusion 
of mayweed, milkweed, and huge thistles with fragrant 
blossoms and sharp thorns. In my earlier years, no vehicle 
with wheels ever visited that sanctuary. Some of the 
people went on foot, others on horseback. Now and then 
there was a side-saddle ; but the " pillion" was the more 
common convenience for the women. It was nothing 



22 

unusual for the husband and wife to arrive on one horse, she 
behind bearing an infant in her arms, and he an older child 
upon a pillow on the pommel of the saddle. This various 
burden was conveniently dismounted at the " horse-block," 
In that house, with the exception of the winter months, 
Priest Haven officiated from 1794 to 1826, He was a good 
preacher, not brilliantly rhetorical, but serious in manner, 
clear in statement, logical in reasoning, and forcible in 
appeal. A few weeks since, a gentleman from this vicinity, 
speaking of a lady of this town, said to me that she was 
"the most intelligible lady in Croydon," It was not exactly 
the compliment he intended ; but of Priest Haven it was 
true that he was both intelligible and intelligent. He made 
himself understood. That he was impressive, I have occasion 
to know, for I remember well a sermon I heard him deliver 
more than fifty years ago, on a communion day, from the 
words, '^ I will wash mine hands in innocency ; so will I 
compass thine altar, Lord." He never had a liberal 
salary. When settled, the town voted him forty pounds, to 
be increased, in certain contingences, to sixty pounds ; "the 
sum to be paid in neat stock, equal to good grass-fed beef, 
at twenty shillings per hundred weight, or good rye at four 
shillings per bushel." He manifested a deep interest in the 
schools, and was an earnest promoter of all efforts to 
improve the morals of the town. He solemnized, for a long 
period, nearly all the marriages, and officiated at nearly aH 
the funerals ; but he never grew rich by the compensation 
for such services, any more than by his scanty salary. For 
thirty-two years he was Town Clerk, and few municipal 
records will more creditably bear inspection. He died 
beloved and lamented. 



23 

I remember only one physician — Reuben Carroll — who 
practiced here forty-seven years, and had largely the confi- 
dence of the people. His personal appearance, and his 
figure on horseback, are distinct in my memory ; yes, and 
those large black saddle-bags, redolent of odors not all from 
Cashmere or Damascus. His physiognomy was peculiar, 
intensely medical, and, in my simplicity, I inferred that the 
configuration of his facial muscles was influenced by his 
smelling his own drugs. He was physician, surgeon and 
apothecary, with a varied but not very lucrative practice. 
One cold winter day, as I returned from school, I was 
informed that I had a little brother in the house. Though 
less than five years old, I loved knowledge, and earnestly 
inquired as to the origin of the important stranger. My 
grandmother, who was sometimes a little waggish, for she 
was a Powers, bantered me with evasive answers. Not to 
be foiled, I pressed my inquiry, and she then told me, " Dr. 
Carroll brought him," Well, that was, for the time being, 
satisfactory, for it was definitive, and I had at once a solution 
of the mystery as to the required capacity of those odorifer- 
ous saddle-bags. How wise was I in my reasoning that Dr. 
Carroll kept a supply of the little folks ready-made, and 
dispensed them about town, wherever wanted. 

Let me mention one other individual who has a large 
place in my recollections — the negro, Scipio Page, always 
on hand at town meetings and military trainings, grand 
caterer for the appetites of all who would pay their coppers 
for fruits, cakes and pastry. He was dismally black as if 
right from Congo, and his name was freely used in family 
discipline. " Old Scip will catch you," was the climax of 
threats to refractory children, and planted in many a mind 



24 

« 

a prejudice against color that was all but ineradicable. 
Really, " Old Scip" was one of the most harmless of men, 
doing what many of his despisers did not — honestly earning 
his own bread, and minding his own business. 

I remember the schools as few, and not of a very high or- 
der. How well do I recollect one, with short terms, summer 
and winter, and with Vashti Hagar and Ezra Gustin as 
teachers — the former still living, in Illinois, and, at the age 
of eighty-one, a correspondent whom I value for her deep 
piety and vigorous good sense. The prejudice here against 
education, more advanced than the product of common 
schools, was almost universal, and a desire for more was set 
down to the account of indolence or misdirected ambition. 
The boy who ventured to look towards a College, declined at 
once in position among his fellows. 

The only public work of those days was the Croydon 
Turnpike, and I remember how the share-holders, many of 
whom worked out their subscriptions to the stock by build- 
ing each a section of the road, and who were promised large 
dividends, received their income mostly in the shape of 
assessments for repairs and the support of turnpike gates. 

The politics of the town were then strongly Democratic, 
of the JefFersonian type, and party-spirit acrimoniously 
divided the men, women and children. I had an aunt, 
living with one of the meekest of husbands in yonder house, 
who could talk on public affairs more intelligently and 
smartly than some of the men whom we now send to 
Washington. 

As we had no mails, newspapers were brought weekly by 
post-riders from Concord and Walpole ; and, though few 
were taken, they were read with avidity, and loaned from 



25 

hand to hand, and their contents were talked over at Edward 
Hall's and James Break's stores, and Benjamin Barton's 
tavern, and sometimes at "intermissions" of Sabbath 
services. 

The first settlers were chiefly from Worcester County, 
Mass., and were decidedly, stringently puritanical. Tradi- 
tion has brought down many a fact, showing how severely 
conscientious they were in the observance of the Sabbath, 
and all this while they had no church, no minister, no gath- 
ering place for Christian worship. But most certainly the 
next generation, as I knew it, was more lax in morals. 
Religious dissensions and political bitterness had their influ- 
ence in the deteriorating process ; but the copious influx 
and fearful consumption of New England rum did far more 
in the work of degeneracy. Terrible was the havoc made 
by that fiery agent among the bodies, minds, morals and 
estates of the population. Some of you remember those 
days of declining industry, mortgaged farms, absconding 
debtors, and deplorable indifference to the Sabbath and 
Christian proprieties. Many vices, such as horse-racing, 
gambling, licentiousness, were among the natural concom- 
itants of the radical evil. But, in the third generation, 
there was happily a change in the habits of the people ; the 
temperance reform wrought beneficent transformations ; and 
the favorable result was seen in their persons and their 
manners, in their dwellings and their farms — in the general 
aspect of the town both physical and moral. What may 
now be the condition of things, I am incompetent to speak ; 
but I look to-day with delight upon your countenances, so 
different from many that I remember, inflamed, bloated, 
scarred with the furnace-fires of imbibed alcohol. God 



26 

oless you all my relatives and friends, and mercifully pre- 
serve you from another such volcanic devastation ! 

But I must not trespass upon time that belongs to others. 
The representatives of many families are present, and their 
reminiscences must be as full and as interesting as my own. 
We are here after a long separation, that we may have one 
earthly reunion, and bring together the treasures of quick- 
ened memories ; and especially that we may garland the 
graves of the intrepid few who, on these hill-sides and along 
these water-courses, laid good foundations for the thrift of 
their successors. I have done what I could. You may do 
immensely better. 

What now of the future ? Three generations have 
passed away. What shall be the character and achieve- 
ments of the next three ? Who will gather here, in 1966, 
and rehearse the story of two centuries ? Long ere that 
second centennial, we shall all have joined the congregation 
of the departed, and our dust will repose in stillness as now 
reposes the dust of our revered ancestors. May we so live, 
and so fulfill the trusts of life, as that we may have a joyous 
reunion in the Better Land. 



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